


The Boys of Summer (1989)

by DarkStar6782



Series: Of Monsters and Men [1]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: Child Abuse, Evil John Winchester, Gen, Implied/Referenced Character Death
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-10-06
Updated: 2019-10-06
Packaged: 2020-11-26 04:44:50
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 16
Words: 18,709
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20924384
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DarkStar6782/pseuds/DarkStar6782
Summary: On a cold, dark night, Bobby Singer pulls up to his hunting cabin to find it occupied by two little boys. Upon discovering the abuse that the younger one has been subjected to at the hands of his father, Bobby takes Dean and Sam Winchester home with him, and vows to make sure that John Winchester never lays a hand on either of them ever again. Because no matter what strange powers little Sam might have, no child deserves to be treated like a monster.





	1. Chapter 1

“Hey there, Bobby. Long time, no see.”

Bobby Singer slid onto the wooden barstool with practiced ease, dropped his ratty baseball cap onto the bar next to the beer that was already waiting there for him, picked up the bottle, and took a long, slow drink. “That hits the spot,” he said with a sigh as he set the now half-empty bottle down and wiped the foam from his mustache. “Thanks, Ellen.”

The bartender, a young, pretty woman with curly brown hair, gave him a friendly smile. “Anything for you, Bobby Singer. You know that.”

“That offer extend to a burger and fries?”

“Of course.” She stepped away for a moment to pass his order along to her husband, who was working in the kitchen, then returned to the bar. “It’s been a while since you passed through here, Bobby. Whatcha been up to?”

“The usual,” Bobby said with a shrug. “Just took out a shifter over in Des Moines and was headed home when I got word of possible werewolf activity a few hours west of here. I have a cabin out that way, so I figured I’d go check it out, and I couldn’t pass through without saying hello to you and Bill and the little munchkin. How’s she doing, anyway?”

“Oh, Jo’s growin’ like a weed,” Ellen said with a fond, inward smile. “She’s at preschool right now, and she’s gonna be sad that she missed a visit from her Uncle Bobby.”

That pulled a smile from Bobby too. “Well, maybe I’ll have to stop back in on my way home, visit for a while.”

“We’d all love that, Bobby. You’re always welcome to the spare room.” Ellen’s invitation was seconded by her husband, Bill, who had just come up to the bar to drop off his burger and fries. The two men exchanged brief pleasantries and information about their latest hunts, then both the Harvelles stepped away to serve a raucous group of men who had just come into the Roadhouse and Bobby turned his attention to his dinner.

He tried to ignore the loud conversation coming from the table of new arrivals behind him—they were all hunters too, from the sound of it, and all but one of them as green as summer grass—but his ears perked up when the obvious veteran among them spoke a familiar name.

“So, did you boys hear that John Winchester bit it?”

“What?”

“No way! Thought that guy was invincible.”

“Guess not.”

“How’d it happen?”

“Way I heard it, he was tracking a wendigo and got jumped by a werewolf pack. That’s why you never hunt alone, boys.”

“He’d been in this game, what, ten, fifteen years? He ever have a partner?”

“Nah, only five or six, the way I heard it. And no one wanted to partner with that bastard. He was crazy, reckless, and had no qualms about using a man as bait or leaving him behind if he slowed him down. I’m surprised he lasted as long as he did, honestly.”

Bobby turned back to the bar to see Ellen standing there, a beer in her hand and a concerned look on her face. “You think they’re telling the truth?” she asked in a low voice as she handed the bottle to him.

“It’s possible,” Bobby said. “When was the last time you saw or heard from John Winchester?”

“Been a while. He came through here about nine months ago, looking for help on a hunt. Bill refused to go, and I’m glad for it—fella over there ain’t lyin’ about John’s reputation, that’s for sure. He suckered Kenny McGrath into it, though, and the kid never came back, so when John came back in a few months later, looking for another sucker, Bill told him he wasn’t welcome here any more. Haven’t seen or heard from him since.” She chewed on her lower lip for a second. “Didn’t he have kids? Two boys, from what I remember when I first met him.”

Bobby’s eyes went wide at that. “He wasn’t dragging them along on his hunts, was he?”

Ellen shrugged. “No idea. I saw them once, right after John got into this business. He came around here looking for information less than a year after that monster, or whatever it was, killed his wife, and he had two little boys with him. Oldest was maybe five or so, youngest no more than a year old. Sweetest, quietest kids I ever saw… so sad and lost. I never saw them again after that, though, and he never mentioned them, so I assumed he found a family member to raise them, or maybe gave them up.”

That was probably for the best, Bobby thought as he nursed his beer. He wouldn’t have sent a grown man off in the company of John Winchester, much less two innocent children. “Someone should find out, though. Confirm that he’s really dead, and pass the information along to his boys. You remember what their names were?”

Ellen shook her head. “The baby was Scotty, maybe? And the older one’s name started with a D… Daniel or David, most likely. If you want, Bill can do some asking around.”

Bobby nodded. “And I’ll see what I can find out as soon as I get back from this hunt.” He had a sizable number of contacts in the community, in large part because of his extensive collection of books on monsters and occult lore. All the knowledge in the world couldn’t save a hunter if he was in the wrong place at the wrong time, though… and all of the knowledge in the world wasn’t enough to stop the tragedies that caused men like him and John Winchester to become hunters in the first place. Though the memory of the last fight he’d had with his wife always came to the forefront of his thoughts when children were mentioned, a part of Bobby was grateful that they hadn’t had any when she’d been possessed by that demon and killed. He wouldn’t have wanted to be in John Winchester’s place for anything in the world.

Less than an hour later, Bobby was back on the road, stomach pleasantly full and nerves gently humming with two beers’ worth of alcohol and the anticipation of another hunt ahead of him. He tuned the radio to a local oldies station as he headed west, focusing entirely on the task in front of him and trying to ignore the nagging voice in the back of his head that was telling him that looking for two fatherless children was more important at the moment than hunting down a werewolf. He didn’t usually think like that—not when people’s lives could be at risk—and he wasn’t quite sure why he was thinking that way now, so he shoved all thoughts of John Winchester’s boys back into the deep recesses of his mind and sang along to the radio as a distraction until they stayed where they belonged.

It was getting dark by the time he pulled up to the dilapidated little cabin that he owned in southern Wyoming. He really needed to come out here more often, do some upkeep on the place, but it served its purpose and, the worse it looked, the less likely he was to find squatters living in.

He wasn’t going to be that lucky this time, though, he realized as he turned off the car and killed the headlights. Their beams had been hiding the flickering glow of firelight escaping from around the edges of the ragged curtains over the cabin’s front windows. Someone was living here. Bobby suppressed a growl of annoyance as he pulled a shotgun from under the front seat of the car before getting out. Whoever it was would know he was coming—it was impossible to have not heard the car pulling up the dirt road in the silence of the wilderness—so his best chance was to take them unawares and hope they weren’t armed. He crept up to the front door, listening hard for footsteps on the floor inside and watching for a swish of curtains. But no one came to look out the window that he could see, and he heard no voices to indicate more than one interloper. Was it possible that the intruder had slept through the noise of the car pulling up? Or had they gone out and left the fire burning?

Bobby was reaching for the doorknob, gun at the ready in his other hand, when he felt the distinctive sensation of a shotgun barrel shoving itself into his lower back. On instinct, he dropped his own weapon and put his hands up.

“Don’t move, or I fill ya full of lead and rock salt.”


	2. Chapter 2

Hiding his surprise at the sound of the voice, which was obviously coming from a child despite a valiant attempt to make it sound gruff and deep, Bobby said, “I’m not here to hurt you, kid. How ‘bout you put that shotgun down and we talk about this like civilized folk?”

“No,” the boy behind him growled, digging the gun’s barrel into his spine again. “You pick up your gun and get outta here right now, or I shoot.”

“Okay, okay, easy, kid.” Bobby slowly lowered his hands and bent slightly at the waist as if preparing to pick up his gun. “But there’s something you should know about holding a gun on someone like that.”

“What?”

“It makes it real easy to do this.” Bobby spun around and grabbed the barrel of the shotgun as soon as it came into range of his hands, yanking it easily out of the boy’s grip. His shock doubled when he found himself facing a much younger child than he had been expecting. The kid standing in front of him now hadn’t even hit double digits yet, best that Bobby could guess. He was short, and too skinny, with dirty, unevenly-cut hair and filthy, tattered clothes, and he was looking up into Bobby’s face with an expression of defiance that was quickly melting into one of absolute terror.

“It’s okay, kid.” Bobby tossed the sawed-off shotgun the boy had been holding on him off into the darkness and held his hands up again. “I’m not gonna hurt you. But it just so happens that I own this place, and I don’t take too kindly to guns being held on me on my own property, especially when you’re the one trespassing. You wanna tell me what you’re doing here?”

The boy shook his head, wide eyes darting between the trees off to his right and the house’s front door. Bobby’s best guess was that he was weighing the option of bolting for the woods against the cost of losing whatever he had left in the house. Given that he hadn’t run yet, it was a good chance that whatever was still inside the house was pretty important to him. Despite his gruff facade, Bobby was far from heartless; he gave the kid an easy out. “Whaddya say we both go inside and get warm?”

“You gonna call the cops?”

Bobby shook his head. “No phones up here. I just want to talk. And get some sleep. I’ve had a long day, and it looks like it’s past your bedtime too.” He reached for the doorknob, and the boy tensed, but instead of running off into the darkness, he waited until the door was open halfway, then darted under Bobby’s arm into the house. Bobby almost shouted for him to stop, but as soon as he stepped into the room, he realized he didn’t have to. The boy hadn’t gone far; he was crouched in a far corner of the living room by the fireplace in front of sizable pile of blankets. He glared somewhat menacingly at Bobby every time Bobby looked in that direction, but otherwise didn’t move or say anything.

Keeping his hands in clear view, Bobby wandered through the room. It was in better shape than he had expected for finding a near-feral child squatting in it, possibly even cleaner and more organized than it had been when he’d last stayed here. There was a pile of firewood near the door, a couple of cans sitting on the kitchen table next to a battered saucepan, a tin plate, and a stained and chipped coffee mug, and a large army duffel spilled clothes out onto the floor next to the pullout couch on the far wall across from the front door. “How long you been here?” Bobby asked as he eyed the food on the table—a can of baked beans, one of fruit cocktail, and one of creamed corn. It was the only evidence of anything to eat in the room.

The boy shrugged.

“And where are your parents?”

“My dad’s working,” the boy said. “He’ll be back soon, though, and he’s got guns, so you’d be better off getting gone now.”

“I told you, kid, this is my place,” Bobby reminded him gently but firmly. “Threats aren’t going to get you anywhere with me.” He thought he heard a small whimper, but when he looked over at the kid again, there was still nothing but defiance in the boy’s face. With a sigh, Bobby sat down on the couch. “My name’s Bobby Singer,” he said. “What’s yours?”

“Dean.”

“Well, Dean, if I go out to my car and bring in my supplies, you gonna stay put and let me?”

“Why should I?”

“Because if you do, I promise I won’t kick you out of here until your dad comes back from wherever he’s gone, and I’ll share my supplies with you. You look like you’re running a little low there.”

Dean’s eyes flickered from Bobby’s face to the meager stack of cans on the kitchen table and back. “You got food?”

Bobby nodded. “And drinks, and fresh water. And I can turn on the water for the house too, so you can have a hot shower and use the toilet inside.”

Dean’s eyes went big at that. “Really?”

“Really.” Bobby smiled as the first hint of trust entered the boy’s voice.

“Okay, you can go. But… no guns.”

“No guns,” Bobby promised. He wasn’t going to mention the knife he had at his belt, or the one in his boot, or the fact that he could probably take the kid with one hand behind his back in a hand-to-hand fight. No reason not to let the boy think he still had some control over the situation. It would make things easier for everyone in the long run.

Bobby headed outside to his car to grab his duffel and the cooler full of provisions. He decided to wait until morning to turn on the water to the house, though; he didn’t feel much like stumbling around in the dark, especially not when the kid’s father could return at any time. In advance of that possibility, though, he hunted down the shotgun he’d dropped by the door and the kid’s sawed-off and slipped them both into the back seat of his car, then rummaged around in the trunk until he found his pistol, which he slipped into an inside pocket of his coat.

When he hauled his gear back in through the door, Dean was still sitting in the corner next to the pile of blankets, only he was facing it this time, and had one hand resting on top of it. He appeared to be whispering something to it, and Bobby could have sworn he heard another whimper come from that corner of the room, followed by a shushing sound.

“Everything all right over there?”

Dean jumped and whirled around, fists raised, and he relaxed only minutely when he saw that it was just Bobby. Trying to act casual, Bobby tossed his duffel onto the couch, then set the cooler on the kitchen table and unpacked the camp stove and fixings for a dinner of franks and beans. “Whatcha hiding over there, kiddo?” he asked after a few minutes of silence, trying to sound like he was just making idle conversation.

Bobby heard Dean’s breath catch in his throat, and there was another, very obvious whimpering sound. Bobby had a pretty good idea of what the boy was hiding, though, so when Dean didn’t answer, he waited a few minutes before asking, “You got a puppy or something?”

“Don’t call him that!” Dean’s shout was so vehement and unexpected that Bobby jumped, and when he turned around, he found the kid on his feet again, eyes blazing with fury. “You leave him alone! He’s not an animal! He’s not a monster!”

Bobby’s heart sank as he realized that he had gravely underestimated what was going on here. “I’m sorry, Dean. I didn’t mean… who’s not a monster?” But he’d gotten the answer before he’d even finished the question as Dean sank to his knees and wrapped his arms around the pile of blankets, which had shifted to reveal the huddled form of another tiny, skinny, filthy little boy.


	3. Chapter 3

“Leave him alone! He’s not a monster, okay? Why can’t you just go away? Why’d you have to come and spoil everything?”

Dean’s words were directed at Bobby, but they didn’t really seem to be for him, and they quickly devolved from angry shouts into tear-filled mutters as Dean turned his attention to the other boy, who was whimpering and shivering as Dean covered him up with the blankets again. Bobby approached them cautiously, trying to get a better look at the smaller boy, but Dean’s angry glare pinned him in place again before he’d even made it halfway across the room.

“I’m sorry, Dean,” Bobby apologized again. “I didn’t realize. Of course he’s not a monster, or an animal. Who is he?”

“Sammy,” Dean said, placing a soothing hand on the blankets as the other boy twitched at the sound of his name.

“Is he hurt? Does he need some help?”

Dean’s eyes narrowed suspiciously. “No. He just… Dad was supposed to be back by now.”

The poor boy sounded so lost, and scared, and alone all of a sudden that Bobby had to strongly resist the urge to cross the room in three strides and wrap him in a hug. He settled for heading back to the table, standing behind it this time so he was still facing Dean, and getting some dinner started. He attempted to keep the tone of their conversation casual, despite the fact that its subject was far from the same.

“Where is your dad, Dean?”

“Dunno,” Dean said, the unguarded honesty likely a result of the fact that he had turned most of his attention back to the shivering form under the blankets. “Shh, it’s okay, Sammy,” he said in a low voice. “He’s not gonna hurt us. He promised.”

“What does your dad do?”

“He’s a hunter.”

Bobby froze at that, pieces of a puzzle he hadn’t even realized he was working on suddenly falling into place. The kid had threatened him with rock salt, and he’d accused Bobby of calling the other boy a monster… “Does your daddy hunt monsters, Dean?”

That got the boy’s attention. “How do you know that?” he asked, tensing again as he turned around.

“Because I hunt monsters too.”

Dean’s eyes widened, and the next thing Bobby knew, he had pushed the little boy and the blankets as far back into the corner as he could get him and had pulled a hunting knife almost as long as his arm out from somewhere. “You stay away from us!” he shouted. “I won’t let you hurt Sammy!” Even from the other side of the room, the absolute terror radiating from him was palpable.

“Woah, calm down, kid! I told you already, I’m not going to hurt you or Sammy. Now, put that knife down before you hurt yourself.”

“No!” Dean practically screamed. “Did my dad send you? I know what you are, I know what you do! Sammy’s not a monster! Why won’t anyone believe me?” He was sobbing now, the knife shaking in his hands. “Please don’t hurt him? I promise he’ll be good. He’s my little brother…” Suddenly overcome, Dean dropped the knife and fell to his knees, tears streaming down his face. 

His own heart breaking at the sight, Bobby did cross the room this time, pushing the knife aside as he went to his knees and pulled the sobbing boy into his arms. “Shh, Dean, it’s okay. I’m not here to hurt you or your little brother, and I won’t let anyone else hurt you either. Not even your daddy.” Raised, angry voices and the sound of a hand slapping bare skin echoed through his memories and were furiously pushed aside. The truth of Dean’s presence here, and his appearance and demeanor, were becoming clearer by the second. He held Dean, rocking him slightly and murmuring soothing nonsense until the boy’s sobs had dried up, then he said, “All I want is to get some good food in you both. Then we can all get some sleep and figure out what we’re gonna do in the morning, okay?”

“You… you’ll feed Sammy too? Real food?”

“Of course,” Bobby said, feeling his heartbeat hitch unexpectedly at the question.

“And you’re really not here to hurt him?”

“I’m really not. I didn’t even know you boys were here, remember?”

Dean pulled out of Bobby’s embrace, wiping his eyes vigorously and trying to look like he hadn’t just been crying, which Bobby found both sad and adorable. Turning to the pile of blankets, which was shivering in earnest now, he said, “It’s okay, Sammy. This is Bobby. He’s a hunter, but he promises not to hurt you. You wanna come out and meet him so he can give us good food to eat?”

It took a moment of coaxing and prodding at the blankets, but the shivering finally stopped. A mop of long, greasy brown hair emerged first, followed by a pair of large hazel eyes that darted all around the room, even glancing up briefly into Bobby’s face before settling on a spot on the floor right in front of Dean’s knees. The rest of the blankets fell away as Dean coaxed Sammy into a sitting position, and Bobby had no idea what either boy had been so afraid of. Sammy was a normal-looking little kid, if you discounted the fact that he was way too skinny and absolutely filthy, just like his brother. But then, Bobby noticed something that caused his heart to skip a beat.

“Dean,” he asked, trying to keep his voice calm despite the fact that he felt like screaming. “Why is Sammy wearing a collar?”


	4. Chapter 4

“Because Dad thinks Sammy’s a monster.” Dean’s tone was matter-of-fact, but with a obvious undercurrent of anger. “I tried to take it off, but he knows when I do, and I didn’t want him to hurt Sammy any worse, so I hafta leave it on.”

Bobby wasn’t sure what was worse: that the black leather collar was locked around the poor kid’s neck, or that there was a heavy metal chain running between it and an eye hook that someone had screwed into the wall in the corner of the room, leashing the kid in place. He fought back tears as he looked at the trembling little boy sitting in front of him. Sammy was still staring at the floor and trying to make himself as small as possible. “Hey there, Sammy,” Bobby said in his softest, most gentle tone of voice. “My name is Bobby. I’m not going to hurt you. Would you let me take a look at the collar around your neck?”

Sammy flinched back violently from the hand that Bobby couldn’t help but reach out, and Bobby pulled back, expecting an equally violent reaction from Dean, but the older boy just put one small hand on Bobby’s arm. “Please, don’t,” he said. “Dad won’t understand.”

Bobby was seconds away from telling Dean that he had no intention of letting their father near either one of them ever again, but that was a conversation that required caution and tact, so he kept his mouth shut. “All right,” he said instead, dropping his hand. “How about that dinner?” He pushed himself to his feet and went back to the camp stove, making quick work of the franks and beans, a couple of slices of toast to spread them on, and some fresh carrots and apple slices to round out the meal. As he dished everything out onto three plates, the realization that he couldn’t invite the boys to sit at the table because Sammy couldn’t leave that corner of the room almost lost him his appetite, but he swallowed down his rage and disgust and forced a kind smile to his face as he crossed the room with the boys’ food.

Dean had managed to coax Sammy the rest of the way out of the blankets and was sitting with the smaller boy on his lap, whispering in his ear and stroking his hair to keep him calm. Bobby’s stomach turned over once again as he realized that Sammy’s situation was much worse than he could have imagined. Dean’s clothes were ragged, dirty, and ill-fitting, but at least he was fully-dressed; Sammy wore nothing but a too-large smock made out of a man’s tank-top with the sleeves cut and tied in knots over his shoulders, and the reason behind this makeshift apparel, apparently, was because the leash and collar around the boy’s neck were not his only restraints. There was also a finer chain wrapped around Sammy’s wrists like a set of makeshift handcuffs, and another at his ankles, each with less than six inches of slack between them. Swallowing hard, Bobby practically cemented his smile on his face and pretended not to notice the other restraints as he crouched down and set the two plates of food down in front of the brothers.

“Here you go. Don’t eat too fast; wouldn’t want you getting sick.” He returned a moment later with two bottles of water, then took his own food and a bottle of beer over to the couch, though he found himself spending more time watching the boys interact than he did paying any attention to his own meal.

If Dean noticed that the food was on two separate plates, he didn’t seem to care. He went first for one of the apple slices, biting into it eagerly and chewing with a look somewhat close to ecstasy as he swallowed it down, then he held up the remaining half of the slice to Sammy’s lips, coaxing the younger boy in soothing tones until he had nibbled away the whole thing. A carrot was eaten in the same fashion—half for Dean, the rest for Sammy—and then the franks and beans on one plate disappeared one alternating spoonful at a time, first Dean, then Sammy. They even ate the soggy slice of toast in alternating bites, and when Dean reached for the bottle of water, he took a drink first, then held the bottle to Sammy’s lips and tilted it up so he could sip it down. In that fashion, they cleaned both plates and emptied both bottles of water, and it didn’t escape Bobby’s notice that Sammy’s hands never moved from his lap the entire meal.

As soon as they were done with their food, Dean wiped Sammy’s face off with a corner of his shirt, then went around the fireplace and picked up a metal bucket and a roll of toilet paper that had been hidden in the corner. He helped Sammy to his feet and supported him as the little boy, swaying on unsteady legs the whole time, used the bucket as a toilet. They seemed to have completely forgotten that Bobby was there. After Dean made sure that Sammy was all clean, he helped him lie back down and wrapped him up in blankets again, whispering softly to him the entire time. Then, he carried the bucket outside. Less then ten minutes later, he came back in without it. His eyes darted briefly between Bobby, who had finished his dinner but hadn’t yet moved from the couch, and Sammy in his lump of blankets, then he relaxed and crossed the room to lie down next to his brother and wrap himself up against the night’s chill that even the fireplace couldn’t drive away completely.

“You boys comfortable over there? You got everything you need?” Bobby asked as he watched Dean kiss his little brother on the forehead and pull him into his arms.

“Yes, sir,” came the soft reply. “Thank you for the food, and for not calling the cops.”

“Of course, kiddo,” Bobby replied, fighting back tears once again. “You boys get some rest, and we’ll talk in the morning.” He gathered the dishes in silence, watching as two pairs of big, dark eyes drooped closed and two tense, thin faces slowly acquired the peaceful softness of sleep, then he pulled out his own sleeping bag, draped it across the couch, and made himself comfortable. He didn’t think he was going to be getting much sleep tonight, but as soon as the sun rose, he would take decisive action towards handling the situation he had just found himself in. Regardless of who these kids belonged to, their welfare was at least as important as the safety of the civilians he’d come up here to protect, and at the moment, he knew which one mattered more to him, both in his mind and in his heart.


	5. Chapter 5

_ There was a fire; smoke and flames and a heat so intense it brought tears to his eyes, even though he was a big boy and big boys weren’t supposed to cry. He heard shouting, and Sammy crying, and he ran into the hallway to find his Mommy, but Mommy wasn’t there._

_ “Take your brother outside as fast as you can! Now, Dean, go!”_

_ Sammy was in his arms, and he was running so far and so fast, in the dark, the grass in the front yard as cold as icicles under his bare feet. He looked back at the sound of glass breaking; there was fire in all the bedroom windows. Then, his Daddy was there, picking up him and Sammy both and carrying them out of danger. As they stood on the street, watching the flames dancing and the smoke billowing and the lights of the firetrucks flashing, he waited patiently for his Mommy to come running out too, but Mommy never came._

_ His golden-haired Mommy, who was always smiling, who always told him angels were watching over him, was gone forever. Where were the angels now? Why weren’t they watching over her?_

_ There was no time to be sad or angry, though, because Sammy needed him. Now he was the one who changed Sammy’s diapers, and gave him his baths, and fed him his bottle, and put him to bed at night. He was the one who played with Sammy, and gave him his first bites of real food, and comforted him when his teeth started coming in, and smiled when he started crawling for the first time, and almost didn’t really cry when his first word was “Dee”, and picked him up and danced around the room with him when he took his first steps._

_ And if it was Sammy’s crib that he started climbing into at night when he had nightmares instead of going to Daddy, who hardly ever slept any more and always smelled like beer, there was nothing wrong with that, because protecting his little brother from all the scary-bad things out there in the world was his job now._

_ But then the scary-bad was no longer out there in the world any more, it was right there with them, in a dingy motel room. It was his own Daddy pulling Sammy away from him and saying, “He’s a monster, Dean! He killed your mother!” and Sammy screaming, “Dee, help!” and his own fists flying and his Daddy’s big fist hitting him in the side of the head and everything going dark. And when he woke up, there was a collar around Sammy’s neck, and a new set of rules, and he had failed. Because Sammy wasn’t a monster, but he knew who was, and he hadn’t noticed soon enough to save either of them from its clutches._


	6. Chapter 6

When Bobby woke up the next morning after a restless night, the two boys were still sleeping peacefully in their nest of blankets by the now-cold fireplace. Dean roused briefly, giving him a confused, sleepy stare when he piled more firewood in the grate and got the fire going again, but instead of waking up further, he just pulled his little brother closer to him and closed his eyes again. With a fond, sad smile, Bobby turned away and headed for the camp stove to get a pot of coffee going.

While the water for the coffee was heating up, he decided to get the water and power to the house turned on so that he could hopefully coax both boys into taking baths before he convinced them to come home with him while he tracked down their father and made sure the man never laid his hands on either of them again. The chill in the air when he stepped out of the cabin wasn’t enough to take his breath away, but what he found when he headed behind the house to access the water pump and the breaker box was.

Parked in a thicket of scrub brush directly behind the house was a black 1967 Chevy Impala with Kansas license plates. Its presence initially frightened Bobby—had the boys’ father returned last night and seen him there; was he now waiting out here to jump him?—but then he realized that he recognized the car and was hit with a wave of relief, followed by an equally strong wave of guilt for being relieved. Because there was only one hunter that he knew of that drove a car like that. It belonged to John Winchester.

And that simple fact changed everything. Those two boys back in the cabin—orphans now, most likely—were John Winchester’s sons, the ones Bobby had planned on searching out once he had finished this hunt. At least he didn’t have to worry about dealing with the courts in order to keep their father away from them, or risk kidnapping charges by taking them away from here with him. But there was also a good chance that they weren’t going to believe him if he said that their father was dead, and, more importantly, before taking any responsibility for them, he was going to have to make absolutely certain that John Winchester was dead, because he was the last man that Bobby wanted on his tail for messing with his family.

So, ignoring the car for the time being, he turned on the cabin’s water and power and headed back inside to make himself a strong cup of coffee. By the time he’d started on his second cup and had regained his nerve enough to develop an appetite again, the boys were stirring, sitting up and rubbing sleepy eyes with tiny, grubby fists. Upon seeing him, Sammy whimpered and buried his face in Dean’s shirt. Dean rubbed a soothing hand over his brother’s back, whispered that everything was going to be all right, then said, “Good morning, sir,” to Bobby.

“Good morning, Dean, Sammy,” Bobby said with a smile. “I was thinking bacon and scrambled eggs for breakfast. That sound good to you?”

Dean blinked a few times, looking as if no one had ever asked him what he wanted to eat before, then nodded. Bobby got to work without commenting on it. He felt Dean’s eyes on him for another minute, then the older boy got to his feet, covering the younger one with a blanket, and headed for the cabin door. He was gone about five minutes, and when he returned, he was carrying the bucket from last night and appeared to have washed his face and hands. He helped Sammy use the bucket again, then wiped the younger boy’s face and hands with a wet cloth and sat him back down in the nest of blankets with a promise of “Food, soon.” Along with his observation from last night that Sammy never lifted a finger to do anything for himself, Bobby was also realizing that the boy never spoke a word, or made any sounds except for the occasional whimper of fear.

Dean came over to the table this time to take the plate piled high with eggs and bacon for himself and his brother. “Thank you for the food, sir,” he said as he took the plate from Bobby, then he picked up the can of fruit cocktail from the table too. “It’s Sammy’s favorite,” he said with a shy smile when he saw Bobby’s questioning look.

He wasn’t wrong, either. Sammy’s eyes lit up when he saw the can of fruit cocktail, and Bobby even saw his fingers twitch, as if he wanted to reach for it. Dean apparently saw his little brother’s excitement too. “I saved the best for last,” he said as he sat down across from Sammy and balanced the plate of food in his lap, “but you have to eat this nice breakfast that Mister Bobby made for us first, okay?”

With an eager nod, Sammy opened his mouth, waiting for the first forkful of eggs, and Bobby felt tears welling in his eyes. His father’s abuse was going to leave long-lasting scars on the poor kid, but all hope wasn’t lost yet, for either of them. Bobby barely tasted his own breakfast as he watched Dean repeat the ritual from last night—one bite for him, then one for Sammy—with the entire plate of bacon and eggs, the entire can of fruit cocktail, and the bottle of orange juice that Bobby brought them once he realized he’d forgotten to get them a drink and that kids probably shouldn’t drink coffee. “Feeling better, Sammy?” Dean asked once all the food was gone. Sammy nodded, then yawned. “Good boy. You get some rest.” Dean helped the younger boy lay down again, covered him with a blanket, then picked up the dirty dishes and carried them back to the table. His eyes went wide when he saw that Bobby was washing the rest of the dishes with water coming from the kitchen sink.

“The water’s turned on, and I unlocked the door to the bathroom back there if you and Sammy want to get cleaned up,” Bobby said conversationally as Dean set his dishes down next to the sink. “I’d like to talk to you about a few things first, though, if that’s all right.”

“What things?” Dean asked, wary uncertainty back in his voice.

“How long has your daddy been gone, Dean?”

Dean chewed his lip and scuffed one bare foot along the floor. “Dunno,” he finally admitted in a near-whisper. “Longer than he should’ve been, though.” He looked over at the two cans of food still sitting on the table. “He never leaves us enough food. He says it’s enough for… that many cans a day,” he pointed at the two on the table, “and he left us this many cans when he left,” he held up both of his hands with all five fingers on each hand spread. “We ate one can every other day until they were all gone, then I stole this many more,” he held up one hand again, “from the gas station in town a few days ago.”

Sorting the kid’s math out in his head, Bobby calculated that their dad had expected to be gone for only five days but had actually been missing for almost four weeks. “And did your daddy ever tell you what you were supposed to do if he didn’t come back?”

Dean shook his head, his eyes going wide and fearful. “I wanted to take Sammy and run away, but what if it’s a test? I always fail his tests; I don’t wanna get this one wrong too.”

“Do you know what your daddy was hunting?”

“A wendigo, he said. He was mad because he wanted backup, but he couldn’t find anyone to help him, and I’m too young to go hunting with him still.”

“What’s your daddy’s name, Dean?”

“John. John Winchester.”

Bobby let out a deep breath and hung his head in sympathy. If Dean noticed his reaction to the name, he didn’t say anything about it; he simply asked, “Do you know my dad, sir?”

“Not well, but I’ve met him a few times. I’m out here, though, because a couple of other hunters heard that he might have gotten himself into some trouble on a hunt. I was in the neighborhood and decided to make sure he was okay.” That was a bald-faced lie, but given that he was certain now that the werewolf problem he had come here to investigate was the same one that had caught John Winchester by surprise, it wasn’t going to be a lie for long.

“So, you’re gonna go out and find my dad?”

“That’s the plan,” Bobby said, “but… how long has your daddy been treating Sammy like that?”

Dean glanced over his shoulder at his little brother. “Not for always, but a long time. Sammy was walking and talking, and I was starting to teach him stuff, getting him ready for when Dad would let us both go to school… and then one day Dad came back from a hunt saying that Sammy was a monster and everything changed. He wouldn’t let him talk any more, and he put that collar on him, and he made me keep him chained up like that whenever he went away on a hunt so Sammy wouldn’t do anything to hurt me. But Sammy would never hurt me. It’s my dad who’s the monster, not him.”


	7. Chapter 7

It was a weight off Bobby’s shoulders to hear that Dean wasn’t going to defend his father’s treatment of his little brother. “Can’t argue with you there, son,” he said softly. “What would you say if I told you that, even if your daddy is okay, I wasn’t going to let you live with him any more?”

“But… where would we go? Dad always said that if I told anyone how we lived, the government would take us away from him and separate us and lock Sammy away forever. I don’t want anyone to take Sammy away.”

“I won’t let anyone separate the two of you, Dean, I promise. I know other hunters who have kids who’d be happy to take care of you, or… I could always take you in if you’d have me.”

A small smile quirked Dean’s lips and made his eyes sparkle as he looked thoughtfully up into Bobby’s face. “I think I’d like that, sir.”

“It’s just Bobby, kid. Or Uncle Bobby, if you’d prefer.”

“Yes, sir.”

“And cut it out with the sir, all right?”

“Okay, s… Uncle Bobby.”

Bobby grinned at the cheeky look on the kid’s face, and almost went to ruffle his hair, but then thought better of it. “Now that that’s settled, how about we get you and Sammy cleaned up? I can probably pick the locks on those chains easy, and I promise you he’ll never have to wear them again.”

Dean nodded, but he was already reaching into his own pocket. “It’s okay. I got it.” The kid really had just been looking for the right moment, Bobby realized as he watched Dean cross the room and crouch down next to his little brother. Though he knew it was impolite to stare, he couldn’t help but watch as Dean coaxed Sammy out of the blankets again and explained what was going on.

“Hey, Sammy, I got some good news. You see Uncle Bobby over there? The nice man who gave us all that good food? He’s come here to take us home with him. We won’t ever have to see Dad again. Isn’t that great?” Sammy looked up at his brother, then over at Bobby, then back at Dean with wide, frightened eyes. “He knows you’re not a monster, Sammy, I promise. So how about you let me see your hands, then we can go have a nice hot bath, okay?”

Sammy looked down at his hands where they lay folded in his lap, but didn’t hold them out to Dean. His face falling, Dean reached out one hand and placed it gently over Sammy’s wrist. “You won’t be punished, Sammy. I won’t let anyone hurt you ever again, I swear. I… I’m sorry I didn’t do this forever ago. Can you ever forgive me?” Despite an obvious attempt to fight it, he started crying then, which caused Sammy to look back up at him in surprise.

“Dee?”

The whispered word, the first that Bobby had heard from the younger boy’s mouth, brought tears to his eyes as well, especially when he saw the way it affected Dean. The kid bit back a sob, tried to wipe away the tears still streaming down his cheeks, and forced a smile to his face through his tears as he looked his little brother in the eyes. “Please, Sammy?”

The younger boy hesitated for another moment, then nodded his head. The chain between his wrists was visibly shaking as he held his bound hands out to his brother, and he didn’t try to hold back whimpers of pain as metal links were forcibly parted from badly-abraded skin, but once his hands were free, he didn’t hesitate to let Dean take his lock picks to the chain around his ankles or the collar around his neck. Both boys were crying in earnest once Sammy was finally free, and the younger boy threw himself on his brother with an audible sob of relief. “Dee!”

Dean held his brother like he was never going to let him go again, and though his arms were shaking with the effort, Sammy was obviously doing the same. Surreptitiously wiping tears from his eyes as he left, Bobby went down the hall to run them both a bath and give them some time to be alone. Once the tub was full of pleasantly hot water, he rummaged through their duffel bag for clean clothes for both of them—though he doubted that anything he found was actually going to fit Sammy; he saw a shopping trip somewhere in the near future—and pulled out shampoo and soap and towels for them both, then he watched Dean carry his brother, who still hadn’t let go of him, into the bathroom and close the door.

The two boys that emerged from the same room almost an hour later were barely recognizable. In clean clothes, with well-scrubbed faces and damp, combed hair, they looked more like normal children than starving, feral waifs. They were still obviously underfed, and both too skinny and a little small for boys of ten and six—the ages that he assumed they were based on what Ellen had told him—but a little love and care would quickly fix all of that, he hoped. It was the other scars their father had left them with, the ones not so easily seen, that would take some real work to heal.

But he liked to think he’d gotten off to a good start, especially when Dean, with Sammy following close on his heels, didn’t hesitate to approach him as soon as they entered the room. “Uncle Bobby? Do you have a first aid kit I could use?”

“Sure thing, kid. What for?”

“Sammy’s wrists and ankles are all cut up. I have some cream that I used to keep the cuts from getting infected, but now that the chains are gone, I wanted to wrap them in bandages too.”

“Good thinking,” Bobby said, and watched in wonder as the boy lit up like a Christmas tree under those small words of praise. “Would you let me do it, though? I’d like to help him out a little too, start to get to know him a bit?”

Dean considered his request for a moment, then turned to Sammy, who was looking at the floor and hadn’t yet acknowledged Bobby’s presence. “Whaddya think, Sammy? Will you let Uncle Bobby make your hurts feel better this time? Bet he’s better at it than I am.”

Sammy just stood there, trembling slightly and not looking up, and Bobby could almost hear the thoughts racing through the poor kid’s head. Before Dean could say anything else to either encourage or discourage him, Bobby stopped him with a hand on his shoulder. “The first aid kit’s in my duffel over there,” he said in a low voice. “Why don’t you get it while I talk to Sammy.” With a reluctant nod, Dean wandered off to the other corner of the room and began to rummage around in the duffel while Bobby went to his knees so he could look Sammy in the eye if the boy decided to give him a chance.

“Hey there, Sammy,” he said in a soft, gentle voice. “I know your wrists and ankles must be hurting from those chains. I just want to help you feel better. I’ll understand if you’d rather have your brother take care of you, but, if you’ll let me, I’d like to do it so that you will know for certain that I am not here to hurt you. Would that be all right with you?”

He practically held his breath as the little boy scuffed one bare foot along the floor, just like his brother had done in a moment of decision-making mere hours earlier, then looked up into Bobby’s face. Whatever he was searching for there, he must have found it, because he managed a shy nod before dropping his eyes to the floor again, and he held out his wrists for Bobby to look at as Dean came running back over with the first aid kit.

“Here, let’s do this right,” Bobby said, gesturing for Dean to set the kit on the table. Then, he reached out for Sammy, and when the kid didn’t pull away, he picked him up with both hands and set him down on the table. The little boy let out a small squeak of surprise that made Bobby smile and Dean laugh, which got a hint of a smile from Sammy as well. Bobby could feel both boys’ eyes on him as he carefully spread antibiotic ointment over the welts and cuts that the chains had left on Sammy’s wrists and ankles and wrapped them with gauze and medical tape, but the boy never flinched or made any sounds of pain, and Dean looked impressed when he inspected the bandages afterwards, so Bobby supposed that he had passed his first test. A part of him was telling him that he was crazy for agreeing to take in two badly damaged boys when he had no experience being a father, but at the sight of those two upturned faces looking at him with hope and trust—probably for the first time in their lives—he knew he was in too deep to back out now, even if he’d wanted to.


	8. Chapter 8

“So, when do we get to go to your house?”

“Don’t talk with your mouth full, Dean. It’s not polite. And what makes you think this isn’t my house?”

“Seriously?” Dean glanced around the room. “When we got here, it looked like this place hadn’t been lived in in ages. There’s no refrigerator or stove, no books or pictures, and you’re sleeping on the couch.”

Bobby was impressed with Dean’s powers of observation, and looked up from the book he was reading to tell him so, but was distracted by the chaos of the scene at the kitchen table and ended up laughing instead. Sammy had used his big brother’s momentary distraction as an excuse to drop the spoon that Dean had been trying to teach him how to use again and demand to be fed in the manner to which he had become accustomed. Unfortunately, the spoon had been full of beans, which meant that the scene that had greeted Bobby consisted of Dean, beans dripping down his face, trying to wrestle the spoon back into Sammy’s hand while Sammy sat there with his mouth open, silently defying his brother’s every attempt to get him to feed himself.

“Aw, c’mon, Sammy,” Dean groaned as he wiped the beans off his face. “Didn’t we go through this already when you were, like, two or something? You’re too old to be pulling this crap on me again.” Sammy giggled, and Dean’s eyes widened for a second in surprise, then he grinned. “Knew you were just messing with me, brat.” He flicked a bean at Sammy’s face; the younger boy caught it in his open mouth and swallowed it down, then opened his mouth for more. “How about I give you one spoonful, then you feed yourself one spoonful; will that work?” Dean asked as he picked up the spoon again and filled it with beans. Sammy closed his mouth, considering this for a moment, then nodded and opened his mouth again, eagerly accepting the spoonful of beans from Dean. This time, though, when Dean handed the spoon over to him, he didn’t resist taking it, and it only took a few more tries for him to get the hang of holding it and using it to feed himself, at which point Dean turned his attention back to Bobby.

“You never answered my question, Uncle Bobby.”

“What? Oh, sorry about that. Got distracted.” Bobby grinned at Dean, and was rewarded with a small smile of understanding in return. “It kinda depends on you boys, honestly, as to when you want to get out of here. Like I said, I came up here looking for your daddy and whatever might have caught him off-guard. If you want, I can follow through on that hunt, give you both some peace of mind before we go home. Or, if you’d rather not stay here any longer, I can call in a favor or two from some hunters I know and have them come and finish the hunt in my place.”

“And if he isn’t… dead?” Dean’s voice cracked a little on the word, but his eyes stayed dry. “What if he doesn’t let us go with you? What if he wants to take us back and hurt Sammy again?”

“Then I get the authorities involved,” Bobby explained. “There’s no way they’ll let him keep you boys when they see how he’s been treating Sammy. Doing that might mean that I can’t keep you either, of course, but it’s part of the reason I’d like to set my own mind at ease about whether your daddy’s alive or not before we leave here. Because if he is, and I don’t, taking you away from him like this could be considered kidnapping.”

“Even if we want to go with you?”

“Yeah,” Bobby sighed. “You’re still kids, and he’s your legal guardian until the law says otherwise.”

“Dad always said the law was stupid, because it didn’t… take into account the existence of evil, or something like that. That’s why we always had to stay off the grid, he said, because the cops wouldn’t understand why we had to live the way we did. So we never went to school, or got to go outside and play, and we had to hide in the car and make sure no one saw us when we dove through towns or stayed in hotel rooms. It’s why he made Sammy stop talking, too; so he wouldn’t tell anyone about how Dad treated him if we ever did get caught.” He frowned thoughtfully for a minute, absently chewing and swallowing a spoonful of beans and feeding another spoonful to Sammy before he spoke again.

“I don’t wanna stay here any more. Too many bad memories, and Sammy needs a place where he can feel safe and free from everything before. If Dad is still alive, other hunters can find him and tell him what you found and why you took us home with you. If he goes to the cops, he’s gonna have to tell them why you took us, or, if he lies, the truth will come out some day. I don’t think he’d risk that.”

“So, what you’re saying is, if I take you home with me and he finds out, he’ll try to get you back the old-fashioned way.”

“Old-fashioned way?”

“Track me down and take you back by force.”

“Oh.” Dean paled at this thought for a moment, then looked Bobby up and down decisively. “You could take him.”

“Thanks for the vote of confidence, kid.” Bobby wasn’t as sure of that fact as Dean sounded—John Winchester was a notoriously vicious and cunning hunter—but he wasn’t going to let that stop him. He was too far gone for these kids to back down from the possibility of a fight now. “Guess that settles it, then. I’m going to need to run into town for an hour or so to make some phone calls and pick up supplies for the trip home. Why don’t you boys pack up whatever you want to take with you while I’m gone, and we can leave as soon as I get back.”

Dean nodded, then frowned thoughtfully again. “Uncle Bobby?”

“Yeah?”

“Dad left the Impala parked behind the house when he went off on his hunt. If he’s gone… I don’t want it to just sit back there and rust away. Is there any way we can take it with us, or come back for it once we know he’s never coming back?”

“Of course, Dean.” Bobby came over to the table and ruffled the kid’s hair affectionately. “I’ll work something out.” He was surprised to see the expectant glance that Sammy gave him from underneath his own shaggy fall of hair, so he ran with his instincts and ruffled the younger boy’s hair too. Sammy hummed contentedly and licked the last of his lunch of baked beans from the bowl in front of him. “You boys just wait here. I’ll be back before you know it, and then we can go home.”


	9. Chapter 9

“Hello?”

“Hey, Rufus, it’s Bobby.”

“Bobby Singer? Haven’t heard from you in a while, man. How’s it going? Not hunting solo, I hope.”

“Uh, no. Not often, anyway. How you been?”

“Same old, same old. You know me; I’ll be working this job until it kills me. But you didn’t call just to catch up. I know you better than that. What’s up?”

“You know that old cabin of mine up in Wyoming?”

“Yeah, I got a few good memories of that place… and some not so good ones.”

“Hey, it wasn’t my fault you copied the words of that spell in the wrong order. Anyway, I’m up there now, came up following rumors of werewolf activity, but something came up and I have to head back home without following through. I was hoping you’d know a hunter or two in the area that might be willing to take up the hunt in my place and report back to me on what they find.”

“I’ll take it on myself. I’ve been itching for an easy hunt, and it don’t get much easier than a silver bullet to the heart. But why do you care how it falls out?”

“You ever meet John Winchester?”

“Not personally. Know him by reputation, though. Crazy, reckless bastard, way I hear it. Why?”

“Well, there’s a good chance this wolf I’m hunting got the jump on him and punched his clock. He was apparently tracking a wendigo in the area, and I found out he’d been squatting in my cabin… with his two sons.”

“Winchester has kids?”

“Unfortunately. Left them to fend for themselves, and he’s been missing for almost a month, so they’re both in pretty bad shape. I wanna get them back to my place and get them back on their feet, but they’d both like some closure about what happened to their daddy, so if you do find him, or what’s left of him, I’d be much obliged if you’d let me know.”

“Of course. But, Bobby?”

“Yeah?”

“You? With kids? Never saw you as the fatherly type, myself.”

“Yeah, well… people change, Rufus. Oh, and I’ll be leaving one of my cars out in front of the cabin, hopefully discourage any more squatters. Just so you’re not too surprised if you pull up and see it there. I’ll leave a key for it inside the house in case you need to move it or use it for anything.”

“Sure thing, Bobby. You take care of yourself, and those boys too.”

“Will do, Rufus. And thanks for this.”

“Any time, Bobby. Talk to you soon.”

“‘Bye.”


	10. Chapter 10

If there was one charitable thing Bobby could have said about John Winchester, it was that he knew how to take good care of a car. Despite being old and hard-ridden, the Impala drove like a dream. Bobby reveled in the soft rumble of its engines, combined with the muted tones of a Led Zeppelin album that had been in the tape deck coming through the speakers. And in the back seat, curled up around each other in a deep nest of blankets and duffel bags, two boys slept soundly, hopefully dreaming of the better life that they’d find themselves living come morning.

An hour or so later, as he was finishing the dregs of his third cup of coffee, Bobby heard a soft scuffing sound coming from the back seat, and turned around in surprise to find Sammy settling himself into the front passenger seat, even taking the time to put on his seatbelt. Completely taken aback by this turn of events, it took Bobby a minute to find his voice while Sammy just sat there looking placidly out the window at the darkness.

“Dean still asleep?” Bobby finally managed to ask in a soft voice.

Sammy nodded, a small smile on his face.

“You’re not tired, though?”

Sammy shook his head, then frowned and looked down at his hands, picking lightly at one of the bandages on his wrists.

“Bad dreams?”

Another nod.

“Well, they’re only dreams now, Sammy. I promise.”

“Sam.”

Bobby almost jumped in surprise. “Huh?”

The little boy looked up, then turned to glance into the back seat and pointed at his sleeping brother. “Sammy,” he said in a soft, hoarse voice as he gestured between himself and Dean. Then, he gestured between himself and Bobby, then swept a broad gesture at the world outside the window. “Sam.”

Bobby nodded his understanding. “Sam. Got it.”

With a final decisive nod and a contented sigh, Sam wriggled down into the seat and went back to looking out the window. Bobby’s mind raced through half a dozen more questions, and rejected every one of them as asking too much from a kid who was barely up to being monosyllabic before deciding that Sam was probably content with the silence. If he wanted to break it, he would.

And, after another half-hour or so of traveling, he finally did. “Is Daddy gone forever?”

“I dunno, Sam. My friend Rufus is going to see if he can find out what happened to your daddy. I hope he is, though, so he can’t hurt you any more.”

Sam nodded at this, and lapsed into another long silence, though not as long as the first one. About ten minutes later, he broke it again. “You a hunter?”

“Yes, I am.”

“Why?”

Bobby briefly debated whether or not to answer such a personal question, but he didn’t want to discourage Sam from asking questions or talking to him, and the kid had probably heard similarly terrible stories, so it was unlikely to scar him further. “Because my wife was possessed by a demon. I didn’t know what was wrong with her, and when she attacked me, I shot her, which meant that, when a hunter came to my rescue and exorcised the demon, she died. I didn’t want that to happen to anyone else, so I became a hunter to try and save other people from losing people they love like I lost her.”

A small hand on Bobby’s arm caused his eyes to well with tears. “Sorry,” Sam whispered. Then, he pulled back into the seat, curling against the passenger door with his knees held against his chest. “Mama was killed by a demon. It came to our house for me. That’s why Daddy thinks I’m a monster.”

“Did your daddy tell you that?”

Sam nodded. “Don’t feel like a monster, though. Never hurt Dean. Never hurt no-one.” He curled even further in on himself, burying his face in his knees.

Deciding that this needed more than just words, Bobby pulled the car off to the side of the road and parked it, then turned to face the little boy. “You’re not a monster, Sam,” he said, “no matter what your daddy told you. I’ve been hunting monsters since before you were born, and I know them when I see them. And even if there is something special about you that a demon wanted, that doesn’t make you a bad person either. It’s what someone does that makes them a monster, not who they are. You understand that?” It was a long shot, but Bobby was getting the strong impression that Sam was much smarter than even he knew.

Sam raised a tear-stained face to look at Bobby and nodded. “Not a monster, ‘cause I never hurt no-one.”

“Exactly.” Bobby pulled a handkerchief out of his pocket and held it out to the little boy. Sam took it hesitantly, then wiped his eyes and blew his nose. Then, just as Bobby was turning back to the wheel to get them back on the road, he found himself with an armful of skinny six-year-old. “Thanks, Uncle Bobby,” Sam whispered as he gave Bobby a full-body hug.

“It’s what I’m here for, son,” Bobby said, returning the hug with tears in his eyes. “Now, how about you get in the back and keep your brother company for a few more hours? We’ll be stopping to see some friends of mine for breakfast, and should be home not long after that, okay?”

Sam nodded, and Bobby helped boost him back over the seat and tuck him in before starting the car again and getting them back on the road. About ten minutes later, he heard someone sitting up behind him. He glanced in the rearview mirror and saw that Dean was awake now, and that Sam was fast asleep in his lap. Dean stroked his brother’s hair to soothe him as he shifted restlessly, then raised his head and caught Bobby’s eyes in the rearview mirror. “Thanks for that,” he whispered.

“Just telling him the truth,” Bobby replied. “He’s gonna need to hear it a lot, though, and not just from me.”

Dean nodded, then leaned down and whispered in his brother’s ear, so low that Bobby almost didn’t hear the words. “I never thought you were a monster, Sammy. I’m sorry I couldn’t stop Dad from treating you like one, but I never believed it, and I never will.”


	11. Chapter 11

They pulled up in front of the Roadhouse a few hours after sunrise. Both boys had dozed off again, but they roused themselves at the sound of the tires crunching on gravel. “I know this place,” Dean said as he rubbed sleep out of his eyes and peered out the window.

“Yeah?” Bobby asked, not wanting to prejudice the kid’s memories by offering up anything he knew about the place.

“Dad came here to look for other hunters to help him on jobs. He always made us hide in the back seat. I think we went inside once, though, the first time. There was a nice lady who gave me cookies and a soda.” He glanced over at Sam, who was looking between him and the building with a puzzled expression. “It’s okay if you don’t remember, Sammy,” he said. “It was only a little bit after Mom died; you were still a baby.”

“Well, the nice lady you met back then runs the place,” Bobby said, “along with her husband, and they have a little girl a bit younger than Sam. They’re the good friends of mine I was telling you about, and I think they’ll be very happy to have visitors for breakfast if you’re up for it.”

“Whaddya say, Sammy?” Dean asked his brother. “You hungry?”

Sam nodded, then he looked down at his too-big shirt and pants and his bare feet with a worried frown. “It’s okay; they’ll understand,” Bobby promised.

“And I’ll carry you so you don’t hurt your feet on the rocks, if you want,” Dean offered.

Sam shook his head at that and jumped out of the car on his own, but relented after less than a dozen steps, holding his arms out to Dean with a whimper. “Don’t worry, kiddo,” Bobby told him as he led them both up to the back door. “We’ll go shopping as soon as we get settled in at home, get you both some clothes that fit.” That brought smiles to both their faces, though they faded quickly into nervous introspection when Bobby rang the doorbell.

It was Ellen who answered the door, looking surprised but pleased to see him. “Bobby? What are you doing here so early? Or back this soon? Hunt a bust or something?”

“Not exactly,” Bobby said, feeling his own nerves kick in a little. “I… got a little sidetracked, had to drop the hunt in Rufus’s lap in favor of taking care of some… more urgent business. I’ll tell you all about it over breakfast, if you’ll have us.”

“Us?”

Bobby stepped aside to reveal the boys, who had moved to hide behind him when the door had opened. “Ellen, I’d like you to meet Sam and Dean Winchester. Boys, this is Ellen Harvelle, the nice lady who runs this place.”

Sam buried his face in Dean’s shoulder upon being introduced, and Dean, apparently overcome by a fit of shyness himself, just nodded at her and clung tighter to his little brother. Ellen, in response, just stared. “These are John’s boys?” she finally asked in a hoarse voice.

“Yup.”

“My God…” she whispered, then she seemed to come to her senses. “Where are my manners? Come in, all of you. Bill was just about to whip up a batch of pancakes for Jo this morning, and he only knows how to cook for an army, so there will be plenty for everyone.” With Bobby bringing up the rear so he could keep a comforting hand on Dean’s shoulder, she led them through the Roadhouse’s kitchen to a flight of stairs that took them up to the small apartment over the bar. As soon as Ellen had ushered them all into the clean but cluttered living room, she called out, “Bill, three more for breakfast!”

Bill stuck his head around the doorway that led to the kitchen. “Bobby? Surprised to see you back so soon. And what car did you drive up in? Doesn’t look like one of yours.” His eyes went wider than Ellen’s had when they fell upon the boys. “Three more for breakfast, you say?”

“Bill, this is Sam and Dean Winchester,” Ellen said. “John’s boys.”

Understanding flooded Bill’s face, followed quickly by sympathy. “I see,” he said. “I’ll get another batch going then. You boys like pancakes?”

“I do, sir,” Dean said in a soft voice. “I don’t think Sammy’s ever had them.” At this, Sam raised his head from his brother’s shoulder just long enough to give him a questioning look. “Don’t worry, you’ll love them,” Dean whispered in Sam’s ear, patting his brother fondly on the back as Sam returned to hiding.

“Uncle Bobby!”

Everyone jumped a bit at the joyful shriek that echoed through the house, and a second later, Bobby found himself the recipient of an extra appendage in the form of a tiny, blonde three-year-old girl who had just attached herself to his leg.

“Inside voice, please, Joanna Beth,” Ellen said as she smiled fondly down at her daughter.

“Sorry, Momma,” the little girl said in a slightly quieter voice as she tried to climb Bobby like a tree. He let her struggle for a second, then reached down and scooped her into his arms, nuzzling her face with his scratchy beard until she was shrieking with laughter and pleading for mercy. Ellen just rolled her eyes and left them to it.

“How’s my little Jo-Jo?” Bobby asked once the little girl had gotten her breath back. “You being a good girl for your mama and daddy?”

“Yes, Uncle Bobby,” she said earnestly. “And I drawed you a picture in school when Momma said you were gonna visit soon, but I left it there ‘cause I didn’t know you were coming. Will you stay until I go back so I can give it to you?”

“We’ll see, sweetheart. I may not be able to stay that long this time, but I can always get it when I come by next time, okay?”

“Okay.” She pouted for a second, but then caught sight of Sam and Dean, who were still standing by the door looking lost and a little overwhelmed. “Who are they?” she asked in a stage-whisper that carried all the way across the room.

Bobby carried her over to the boys and set her down in front of them. “Jo, this is Sam and Dean. Sam, Dean, this is Jo. She may be a bit noisy,” he ruffled her hair and laughed at the indignant noise she made at this comment, “but she’s very nice.”

“Jo,” her mother spoke up from behind them, “why don’t you go show Sam and Dean where we’ll be eating breakfast? I need to talk to Uncle Bobby for a minute.”

At this, Dean looked up at Bobby, his eyes wide and worried. “It’s all right,” Bobby said, ruffling his hair comfortingly, then Sam’s for good measure. “I’m just gonna fill her in on everything that’s happened. The Harvelles are good people, I promise. Go and get some food in that brother of yours, okay? I’ll be along shortly.” With a nod, Dean acquiesced to this request, and even managed to smile at Jo as he took the hand she was offering him and let her lead him and Sam into the dining room.

“How did you come across John Winchester’s boys on your hunt?” Ellen asked him as soon as he was ensconced in the kitchen with her and Bill and the kids were all sitting at the dining room table out of hearing range. “And what the hell happened to them?”

“John happened to them,” Bobby explained with a disgusted growl. “He didn’t give them up or send them off to live with family; he just did a very good job of keeping them hidden from everyone, even other hunters. Also, somewhere along the way, he got it into his head that Sam—the younger one—was somehow responsible for his mother’s death, and therefore a monster.” He explained how he had found them in his cabin, and the condition they had both been in, sparing no details. By the time he was done, Bill had tears in his eyes, and Ellen looked like she was going to be sick.

“The son-of-a-bitch is dead, right?” she asked once she had gotten her emotions under control again.

“I hope so. That’s what Rufus is checking on. It’s my guess that the werewolf problem I was headed up there to investigate is the same one that caught him by surprise. Doesn’t really matter if he’s dead or not, though. Those boys will never see him again. I’ll kill him myself first.”


	12. Chapter 12

No one really seemed to know what to say after that, though it was obvious that the sentiment was shared among the three adults. Bill excused himself a moment later to go and serve the kids their pancakes. Bobby watched Sam and Dean as a plate was placed in front of each of them, curious as to what they would do. The ritual they had surrounding food still fascinated him, and he was interested in asking Dean about it at some point.

Dean thanked Bill for the pancakes, then covered his in butter and syrup before picking up a knife and fork and meticulously cutting the stack into bite-sized pieces. Sam, sitting next to him, ignored his own plate completely, fixing his eyes on Dean’s instead. Dean skewered one square of pancakes on his fork and ate it while Sam watched, then, once he had chewed and swallowed it, he smiled at his little brother, stabbed another pancake square on his fork, and held it out to Sam. Sam took the fork and fed himself, his eyes going wide as he tasted it for the first time. With an even wider grin, Dean picked up another fork, and the two boys ate off the same plate, alternating bites, and once that plate was empty, they repeated the same ritual on the plate that Sam had pushed aside.

The Harvelles were all transfixed by the boys’ odd eating habits too. Ellen and Bill both watched them for a minute or two before looking to Bobby for an explanation that he didn’t have, but it was Jo, naturally, who demanded an explanation from the person who could give it to her. After staring at them the entire time that she was eating her own breakfast, she finally blurted out, “Why you eating like that?”

Dean stopped with a forkful of pancakes halfway to his mouth, looking like a deer caught in headlights. His face went bright red, as if he were embarrassed, then he set the fork down and said in a soft voice, not looking at Jo, “Our dad never left us with enough to eat. I needed to make sure Sammy got enough, and that I never ate more than he did, no matter how hungry I was. Splitting everything makes sure that doesn’t happen.” Bobby got the sense that that wasn’t the whole truth, but it was a logical explanation for the ritual.

“That wasn’t very nice of your daddy,” Jo said, “but don’t worry. My daddy always makes enough food, so you can have all the pancakes you want. You don’t have to share.”

“Thanks, Jo.” Dean flashed her a grateful smile, then went back to eating. Despite her words, he and Sam didn’t vary their pattern in the slightest on the second plate of pancakes, or the third one that Bill set in front of them, but having her question answered and getting to say her piece seemed to placate Jo anyway, because she didn’t comment on it again.

“There’s more to it than that, though, isn’t there,” Ellen said to Bobby in a low voice as they kept an eye on the kids while eating their own breakfast in the kitchen.

“I haven’t gotten the full story from Dean yet, but from what I observed, my guess would be that Sam was trained to never raise a hand in his brother’s presence, not even to do things for himself. Once he got Sam out of those chains yesterday, Dean had to show him how to feed himself again. The fact that he’s using his own fork and not just waiting for his brother to feed him is a big step for Sam, so I imagine other elements of the ritual will fall by the wayside as he gains more independence and they get more comfortable with the idea of always having enough to eat.”

“That’s not all of it, though,” Bill said. “The way Dean always takes the first bite off of each new plate, and the way Sam watches him eat the entire thing before expecting any food of his own… it speaks to something else.”

“Maybe he’s just used to doing it to make sure that the food hasn’t gone bad, that he isn’t feeding his little brother something that tastes nasty, or that could make him sick…”

“… Or kill him?”

The three of them looked at one another, horror-struck at the likely act behind that realization. “Being torn apart by a pack of werewolves was too good for that monster,” Ellen finally said in a low, dangerous voice. They finished their pancakes and coffee in subdued silence, then Bobby helped Bill with the dishes while Ellen took all three of the kids off to the bathroom to clean syrup residue off of faces and hands.

“Jo’s showing the boys her room and her toys,” Ellen said when she came back into the kitchen, looking calm and content again. “They both look a little overwhelmed, but I think she’s growing on them.” She poured herself another cup of coffee, then sat down and fixed Bobby with a considering stare. “So, you’re serious about taking the two of them in and raising them? I mean, you’ve been a great uncle to Jo and all, but I just never saw you as the type to want kids.”

“I wasn’t,” Bobby admitted, not looking up from his own cup of coffee, “and the greatest regret of my life has been that my wife did want them, and that we fought about it right before she died. She told me I’d be a good dad, and I didn’t believe her at the time, but since then… And those boys need someone who understands. About monsters and hunting, and also about how some monsters are human, and how sometimes the people who are supposed to protect and care for you are the ones who hurt you the most. They need to know that it’s possible to recover from the loss of that innocence, and live your life without succumbing to the same darkness. There may be someone out there who’s better qualified than I am to raise them right, but I’m here, and I’m willing, and I think that’s the most important thing right now.”

“Hard to argue with that,” Bill said, clapping Bobby on the shoulder. His eyes were unusually bright. He and Ellen exchanged a look, speaking volumes to one another in the silence, then she nodded. “If that’s what you want to do, Bobby, we will support you completely. I think you’ll make a great father too, and me and Ellen are just a phone call and a few hours’ drive away if you ever need any help or advice.”


	13. Chapter 13

_ There were three cans on the old wooden fence, and his dad’s gun was heavy in his hands._

_ “This is important, son. You need to know how to protect yourself and Sammy when I’m away. You know that there are monsters out there; you don’t want them to hurt your little brother, do you?”_

_ He took the shots, and even though the gun’s kick knocked him backwards the first time, three cans eventually went flying off the fence, and his dad was proud of him. They went back to the old cabin, and Dad gave him ice for his bruises, and while Sammy babbled over dinner in something that was starting to sound like real words instead of baby talk, he stayed silent and thought about what it was to be a man._

_ There were four cans on the old wooden fence, and his dad’s voice was loud in his ear._

_ “Those monsters killed your mother, boy! If one of them was coming at you, would you hesitate? You’re going to be a hunter like me some day; a second’s indecision is a matter of life and death! Now take the shot!”_

_ He pulled the trigger, and four cans went flying off the fence. His father walked over and put them back, and he hit the targets again and again and again, until they were out of bullets and his ears were ringing. When they went back to the cabin, Sammy came running and wrapped pudgy arms around Dad’s legs, but Dad just pushed him aside, so Sammy came to him instead. There was no food in the house, so Dad told him to clean the weapons and went out. When Dad came home five hours later with nothing, smelling of beer, he realized that, if that was what it meant to be a man, he didn’t want to be one._

_ There were five cans on the fence, and his heart was in his throat as he pulled the trigger._

_ “If anything happens while I’m away, if he makes a move on you, you’ll have to do it. You can’t hesitate, son. He’s a monster. He killed your mother, and if you give him half a chance, he’ll kill you too.”_

_ He refused to believe it, but he couldn’t say so, even as five cans disappeared in a flurry of precise shots. When they went back to the cabin, Sammy was waiting for them, tethered in a corner by the collar around his neck, his wrists and ankles wrapped in iron chains, naked and cold and terrified. And instead of going to Sam and setting him free and telling him everything was going to be all right, he sat back and watched as his dad held Sammy down and poured salt and holy water down his throat until he choked, then beat him with a consecrated leather whip until he collapsed, unconscious and bloody, to the floor. And as he sat there, helpless to do anything but try and hide his tears from his father, he thought about men, and monsters, and realized that he wasn’t sure he knew the difference any more._

_ There are six cans on the fence, and every time he knocks one down, he isn’t sure if he’s seeing his father’s face or his own._


	14. Chapter 14

“Sam? Is everything all right?”

“Dean got ‘nother nightmare. Getting him water.”

“Anything I can do to help?”

Sam turned away from the sink and looked at Bobby for a second, a thoughtful tilt to his head. “Tell him he’s not bad?”

“Yeah, I think I can do that.” Bobby took the glass of water from Sam, then took his hand and followed him up the stairs to the boys’ bedroom.

Over the last week or so, ever since they had arrived at Bobby’s house, Dean had started having nightmares. Not a night had gone by that didn’t end with Bobby being woken up by the sound of the poor kid screaming or sobbing, or hearing the soft tread of Sam’s feet on the stairs as he ran to get his brother something to comfort him—a snack, or a blanket, or a glass of water. Whenever he had tried to enter their bedroom to see what he could do to help the boy, though, Dean had screamed at him to leave, and Sam had always refused his help as well. He wondered what had happened tonight to change things.

Sam led him into their bedroom, then dropped his hand and ran over to his brother. Dean had pulled the comforter off of the queen-size bed that the two of them were sharing and was curled up in it in the corner of the room furthest from the door, shaking silently as he tried to hold back the desperate sobs that were wracking his body. “Dee, Dee,” Sam said, going to his knees in front of Dean and tugging on the blankets to get his attention. “Bobby came. He’ll tell you it’s okay. Please talk to him? Dee?”

Dean didn’t look at his brother; he just shook his head and pulled the blankets over it. Sam started to cry, begging and pleading for his brother to stop crying and talk to him, but it did no good. Deciding to take matters into his own hands, Bobby crossed the room and knelt down next to Sam.

“Hey, Sam, how about you go lay down in my room and let me talk to your brother alone for a bit. I promise I’ll come get you as soon as he’s ready to go back to bed, okay?”

Sam obviously didn’t want to go, but when a few more pleas to his brother got no response, he agreed. As soon as he had left the room, closing the door behind him, Bobby set the glass of water down on the bedside table, then sat down on the floor right next to Dean. Letting the boy continue to cry without comment, he reached out a hand and placed it on Dean’s shoulder.

“It’s okay,” he said after a few minutes of silence, when he sensed that Dean’s tears were finally lessening. “Just let it all out. You don’t even need to tell me what’s wrong; just know that if you want to talk, I’m here.”

“It wasn’t… my dad… who was… the monster,” Dean said a few minutes later in a low, wrecked voice, still interrupted by hiccuping sobs. “I was. There were… cans on the fence. I was a good shot… and he said I’d have to do it some day… if Sammy ever… but I knew… he was wrong… and I didn’t stop him. That’s worse… than what he did, isn’t it?”

Bobby thought of how he’d finally put a stop to his own father’s abuse, and the guilt that he lived with to this day for taking another person’s life like that. The bastard had deserved it, though, and Bobby had always believed that doing nothing would have weighed more heavily on his soul than doing something did. That was Dean’s dilemma, now, it seemed: he believed he had done nothing in the face of his father’s brutal treatment of his brother, or at least done nothing that he felt was effective, and the guilt was eating him alive. Bobby still knew very little about what the brothers had been through, he certainly had no right to judge Dean for the choice that he had made, and, most importantly, he couldn’t even say that it had been the wrong one. It wasn’t the choice that he had made in a similar situation, but it was the outcome that mattered when calculating the weight of making an impossible choice, and from where Bobby was sitting, the outcomes from Dean’s choice had all been good ones so far. Sam didn’t hate Dean, for one thing, which was more than Bobby could say about his mother after he had done the unthinkable to save her.

“No, Dean, it’s not worse than what he did. Not stopping him could never be worse than what he did. And it’s not like you did nothing. You did everything in your power to help and protect Sam. He knows it, and I know it; do you really think he’d be doing as well as he is today if he didn’t feel safe around you, if he didn’t still trust that you love him, if he didn’t believe that you did everything you could to help him?”

“Dunno,” Dean said with a muffled sob. “He’s always been that way. He’s just… Sammy.”

“And that should tell you everything you need to know,” Bobby said as he moved his arm around Dean’s shoulders. “In spite of everything your father did to him, all the ways he tried to break him, he never touched the person that Sam really is, and that’s because of you. Without you, your brother wouldn’t still be the Sammy that you know and love. Without you, he wouldn’t be safe and happy right now. So don’t you ever think that you are any kind of a monster, Dean Winchester. You were trapped in an impossible situation, doing the only thing you could to protect your little brother, and you succeeded. Your father didn’t win. The real monster didn’t win. And that is all that matters.”

Dean seemed to be holding his breath as he took this all in; after a long minute, he let out a shuddering breath and leaned into Bobby, relaxing as the last of his tears slipped down his face. Bobby put his other arm around Dean and pulled him in close; holding him tight as he got his emotions under control. “Thanks, Uncle Bobby,” Dean eventually whispered, then he sat up, scrubbing at his eyes and tear-stained cheeks.

“Any time, kiddo.” Bobby handed Dean the glass of water. Dean drank the whole thing, then Bobby ruffled Dean’s hair and rubbed the boy’s back as he relaxed and laid his head against Bobby’s shoulder. He knew he should try to get Dean to go back to bed, and Sam too, but there was nothing wrong with sitting here for a little longer. A few minutes later, Sam stuck his head back in the door to check on them. When he saw that Dean had stopped crying, he padded across the room and sat down on Bobby’s other side.

“Dee okay?”

“Yeah, he’s gonna be okay,” Bobby reassured the younger boy as he put his other arm around Sam’s shoulders.

“No more nightmares?”

“Not tonight.” Bobby pulled the large comforter over Sam as well and smiled as the younger boy curled into his side, completely trusting and content. Dean’s eyes had fallen closed, and his breathing was slowly taking on the deep, measured cadences of sleep. With a smile, Sam grabbed his brother’s hand across Bobby’s lap and closed his own eyes. Within minutes, both boys were sound asleep. He knew his back was going to hate him for it in the morning, but at the moment, no force in heaven or on earth could have moved Bobby from that spot, and he fell asleep with a smile on his face.


	15. Chapter 15

The ringing of the doorbell caused Bobby to jump and bite back a curse. He really needed to get a guard dog or something. Not that many people visited him, but when they did, it was always unannounced, and a little more warning than that would be nice. Especially since Sam and Dean took unexpected sounds about as well as he did. Though they’d only been living with him for a week, he was starting to get a pretty good idea of how they reacted to certain things. As a result, he stepped into the kitchen where they were both eating breakfast to make sure that they were all right before going to answer the door. As expected, they were both sitting at the table, pale and wide-eyed, and Sam had crawled into Dean’s lap and was clinging to his neck.

“It’s okay. Just someone stopping by to get some work done on their car, most likely,” he reassured them. “Nothing to worry about. You two finish your breakfast, all right?”

Dean nodded, then whispered something in Sam’s ear and set him back in his own chair. Bobby could still feel two pairs of wary eyes on him as he left the kitchen and headed for the front door, though. He hoped it was just some idiot who thought he was a repair shop and not a hunter looking to do some research or anything.

Turned out it was worse than either of those possibilities, though. “Mister Singer,” a deep voice greeted him as soon as he opened the door.

“Morning, Sheriff Evans,” Bobby greeted the officer of the law standing on his front porch cordially. “How are you this morning? How’s the family?”

“Oh, fine, fine.” Sheriff Evans took off his hat and pushed his dark hair out of his face. “Jody’s about to finish high school, you know. Wants to go into law enforcement, like her old man.”

“Well, that’s a high compliment, Sheriff,” Bobby said. “I wish her the best of luck. What can I do for you today?”

“Well, Mabel Henricks down at the second-hand store saw you in there with two boys the other day. She said that they looked… mistreated, not to put it too lightly. Skinny, poorly-dressed, with bandages and bruises on the both of them. Now, I’m not accusing you of anything, you understand, but she made a formal report, so I had to come over and check it out.”

Bobby sighed and nodded. He should have expected something like this. He had seen Mabel giving him the stink-eye when he’d taken the boys clothes-shopping the other day. He supposed this was as good a chance as any to formalize his relationship with the Winchesters in the eyes of the law, though. “They’re the sons of a friend of mine,” he said, trying to keep his dissembling to a minimum. “He passed away recently, and the boys had no one else, so I took them in. Unfortunately, their father was a bit of an abusive bastard, especially towards the younger one. You’re welcome to come in and talk to them, Sheriff, but they are still a bit skittish around strangers, just so you know.”

The sheriff nodded, nonplussed, and followed Bobby into the house. The boys had finished their breakfast and were now sitting on the living room couch looking at one of the picture books Bobby had bought for them. Dean was sounding out words, his brow furrowed in concentration, while Sam traced the letters on the page with his finger. They both looked up at the sound of footsteps, though, and went very still when they saw the stranger in a uniform standing behind Bobby in the hallway.

“It’s okay, boys,” Bobby reassured them with a smile as he came into the room. The sheriff, sensing the tension, wisely stayed in the doorway. “This is Sheriff Evans. He just stopped by to meet you and see how you’re settling in here. Would you be willing to talk to him for a few minutes?”

Sam whimpered and crawled into Dean’s lap, shaking his head as he buried his face in his brother’s shoulder. “Is he gonna take us away?” Dean asked as he wrapped his arms around Sam and held him close.

“No, he’s not,” Bobby promised, though he knew he had no right to be making such a declaration. “He’s just here to make sure that you and Sam are doing okay.” He didn’t want to say too much—didn’t want to make it look like he was trying to hide anything, or telling the boys what to say—but Dean seemed to understand what was going on.

“All right.” Dean stood up and set Sam on his feet. Sam whimpered and clung to him, near tears, but Dean bent down and whispered something in Sam’s ear that stilled his cries and got him to let go long enough for them to cross the room and stand in front of the sheriff. “Sir?”

“Hello there,” the sheriff said with a smile, crouching down so that he could look both boys in the eye. “My name is Sheriff Evans. What are your names?”

“I’m Dean Winchester, and this is my little brother, Sam.”

How are you doing, Sam?” the sheriff asked. Sam stared at him with wide eyes, then turned his head and buried it in Dean’s shirt.

“It’s okay, Sammy,” Dean said in a low voice, stroking Sam’s hair. “Sorry. Our dad taught him to never talk to strangers, especially ones in uniforms.”

“That’s okay,” Sheriff Evans said. He looked both boys over thoughtfully for a minute, then said, “Those are some pretty big bandages on Sammy’s wrists, Dean. How’d he get hurt?”

“Sam,” came a muffled reply, not from Dean.

“Huh?”

Sam pulled his face out of his brother’s shirt and turned to face the sheriff. “It’s Sam,” he said in a voice that was full of determination despite being barely louder than a whisper. “Only Dee’s Sammy.” Then, as if suddenly realizing what he was doing, he whimpered and resumed clinging to his brother, though he didn’t hide his face again.

“Understood, Sam,” the sheriff said. “Can you tell me who hurt you?”

“Daddy,” Sam whispered, then looked up at Dean.

“Our dad was a bad man,” Dean said, explaining the things that Sam couldn’t yet put into words. “He thought Sammy was dangerous, so when he’d leave us alone to go to work, he’d put chains on Sammy so he couldn’t hurt me. I wasn’t allowed to take them off, no matter how long he was gone or how much they hurt. The last time he left, he was gone a really long time, which is why Sammy’s wrists are hurt.”

“Was that when Bobby came and took you in?”

Dean looked over at Bobby. “Dad left one day and never came back. When Uncle Bobby came to tell us he was dead, he said we could come live with him instead.”

“And do you like living with your Uncle Bobby?”

Dean nodded, and so did Sam. “He doesn’t think Sammy’s bad,” Dean said. “He gave us good food, and new clothes, and we get to play outside, and he says we can go to school soon. We have our own room even.”

“An’ pancakes an’ books,” Sam said, looking up at Dean and tugging on his sleeve.

“Yeah, and he makes pancakes for breakfast and he bought us books so we can learn how to read and write and count an’ stuff,” Dean said, smiling at his brother and ruffling Sam’s hair.

Sheriff Evans was smiling now too as he glanced over at Bobby. “Sounds like he’s gonna be a pretty good dad.”

“I aim to do my best,” Bobby said as he came over and put his arms around his boys. He was blushing under the praise, he was sure, but he didn’t really care.

“Well, I’d say you’re doing a pretty good job already.” Sheriff Evans stood up and held out his hand. Dean shook it gravely, then Sam, after a moment’s hesitation, did the same. “It was very nice to meet you boys. You can go back to your book now.”

“Thank you, sir.”

After the boys were settled on the couch again, Bobby could tell that the sheriff still had more to ask him. “Can I interest you in a cup of coffee, sheriff?”

“Don’t mind if I do.” The older man followed Bobby into the kitchen and took a seat at the table while Bobby closed the door to the living room behind him and poured them both cups of coffee. He took a long, slow sip, then gave Bobby a considering look. “You don’t do anything by half-measures, do you, Singer?”

“Not if I can help it, sir,” Bobby said, taking a gulp of his own coffee to hide his smirk.

“After your wife died, well… you’re the last person I expected to ever want to take on kids, Bobby.”

“You’re not the first to say that to me, sir. But they need someone, and I’m in a good position to understand what they’re going through. My father was an abusive bastard too. Not near the level of John Winchester, but… And the fact that I knew the man—or thought I did—and had no idea that he had two kids, or that he was treating them so badly… If I had, I would’ve stepped in a hell of a lot sooner.”

“How did he die?”

“Not certain yet. The rumor was an animal attack. I heard it from some friends of mine that were hunting buddies of his, but I haven’t gotten confirmation of his death yet. I had been letting him stay in a cabin of my over in Wyoming, so when I heard that he might’ve died, I went out there to check it out, and that’s where I found the boys. A friend of mine in the Marshal’s office out there is looking into his death for me.” He pulled out a card with Rufus’s U.S. Marshal’s alias on it and handed it over. “In case you want to follow up with him. I was just waiting on word from him to make my guardianship of Sam and Dean official.”

Sheriff Evans pocketed the card with a nod. “Well, you can consider this making it official. And as long as no one else makes any complaints and I see them in school in September, you won’t be having any more visits from me.” He finished his coffee, then stood up, put on his hat, and held out his hand. “Best of luck to you, Bobby.”


	16. Chapter 16

He should have been in bed hours ago, but Bobby couldn’t sleep. Clive Williams had called asking for some obscure exorcism ritual, and Danny Boyd still needed information on how to kill something called a rugaru, and if he went to bed now, he’d probably be awake again in less than an hour when one of the boys had a nightmare. Besides, he liked doing research for other hunters almost as much as he liked working on cars, and he was starting to think that taking in Sam and Dean didn’t have to mean giving up hunting entirely after all. Looking up obscure lore for other hunters and vouching for them over the phone when their aliases got questioned by local law enforcement were both resources that were sorely lacking in the hunter community, and ones that he was all too willing to provide if it meant not being hassled about going out on the road any more now that he had kids to look after. He would talk to Bill and Ellen about it when he and the boys went to visit them next weekend, let them know to spread his name around to other hunters as someone they could rely on for home office support, as it were.

He caught a flicker of motion out of the corner of his eye and he about jumped three feet when he turned to see what it was and found Sam standing right next to his chair. “Hey there, kiddo,” he stammered out as he tried to breathe deep to bring his racing heart under control without letting on that he’d been spooked. “What’re you doing up?”

“I scare you?” Sam asked, giving Bobby a worried frown. His sleep-mussed hair was sticking up in all directions, and the old t-shirt of Dean’s that he was wearing as a nightshirt hung almost to his knees. He was an absolutely adorable little kid, and Bobby wondered for the thousandth time as he looked at him how anyone could ever want to hurt someone so sweet and innocent.

“Just startled, is all. Everything okay?”

Sam shook his head. “Daddy’s not dead,” he said, shivering a little as the words came out.

Bobby held out his arms, and Sam didn’t hesitate to climb up into his lap. “What makes you say that, Sam?”

“Saw it in my head.”

“It’s okay. It was just a bad dream.”

“No.” Sam shook his head vehemently. “Not a dream. Saw it in my head.”

“Okay,” Bobby soothed. He wasn’t sure what the difference was, but he wasn’t going to argue grammar with a six-year-old at two in the morning. “Don’t worry, though. Even if your daddy isn’t dead, I’m not going to let him hurt you any more, and neither is Dean. You’re safe here, Sam. I promise.”

“I know,” Sam said. “Thanks for saying, though.” He curled up in Bobby’s lap, and Bobby felt him relax as the fears his dreams had conjured faded in the face of reality. “Why you awake, Uncle Bobby?”

“Oh, just doing some research, helping out some other hunters.”

“I help too?”

“Not tonight, kiddo. I think we could both use some shut-eye. How about I get you a glass of water and then we both head upstairs to bed?” Sam agreed to this, and allowed himself to be carried into the kitchen for water and then back to his room to be tucked in again next to Dean, who was still sound asleep. “Goodnight, boys,” Bobby said as he planted kisses on both their foreheads. “Sleep well.” With a sleepy nod, Sam burrowed into the blankets at his brother’s side, and was sound asleep before Bobby had even left the room.

The next afternoon, while Bobby was working in the garage and keeping an eye on the boys as they played hide-and-seek in the yard, he got a call from Rufus. “It’s about time,” he said after the usual pleasantries had been exchanged. “Tell me you got good news.”

“Sorry, Bobby. I don’t have any news, unfortunately.”

“No news? What’s that mean? It’s been weeks. How hard is it to track down a werewolf?”

“Oh, I found the werewolf, all right. I just don’t have any news on John Winchester. There were signs of a struggle, a ton of blood, torn clothing, a knife and a gun with spent casings left behind, but no body. Wolves only eat the hearts, and they don’t usually clean up after themselves. It seems unlikely that he would have walked away from a fight like that and left the wolf alive, but I’ve searched the area for a week and a half and haven’t found any sign of him.”

“Balls!” Bobby swore. “What am I supposed to tell the boys?”

“The truth, would be my advice,” Rufus said. “That way, they at least won’t be caught off-guard if he does show his face again some day. His name is mud among hunters now, by the way; Ellen and Bill have been spreading the word around about what he did to those poor boys, letting everyone know what kind of a man he really was. No one will help him or give him sanctuary now, and I’m not the only one that’s gonna be keeping my ear to the ground in case he does show up. Just keep doing what you’re doing, Bobby. We got your back.”

“Thanks, Rufus. Will do. Keep me posted if you find anything.”

“Will do. Take care, Bobby.”

Shrieks of laughter cut through the silence of the salvage yard as soon as Bobby hung up the phone. Dean had been hiding in one of the junkers and had jumped out at Sam when he’d walked by, scaring him. In retaliation, Sam had tackled his older brother, who had gone down without a fight, and was now sitting on Dean and tickling him mercilessly. Bobby hated to further destroy the childlike innocence that they were only just starting to rediscover, but Rufus was right. He couldn’t keep this from them; ignorance was not safety. He let them have a few more hours of it, though, because it was still bliss on occasion. Then, over dinner that night, he told them what Rufus had found, and what it meant, and also that it didn’t change anything. Whether John was alive or dead didn’t change the fact that he was never going to let the man get his hands on either of them ever again.

After he’d finished telling them everything, Dean’s face was pale with fright, but also reassuringly determined, and Sam just looked sad. His lack of surprise or fear worried Bobby, but then he remembered their conversation from the night before. Sam’s dream must have still had him convinced that his father wasn’t dead. It wasn’t that he was grateful for the kid’s nightmare, but when it was Sam who reached out to his brother and said, “It’s okay, Dee. Uncle Bobby won’t let anything bad happen to us,” Bobby was glad that he was able to use his bad dreams to good ends. Even with this setback, his boys were strong, and no matter what happened, he knew they were going to be all right.


End file.
